frost and clouds

Monday, November 14, 2016

For a long time, my favorite line from the liturgy has been a reference to God as every day renewing the work of Creation. There was a hopeful to it, a promise that nothing had to be simply because it had always been but that each day we had a chance to start again.

What is only now becoming clear to me is what that actually meant, that nothing exists on momentum alone. Even the most basic civic commitment, even the most rudimentary ethical standard, even the most elementary consensus as to standards of rational discourse, all of these have been shown to be if not illusory at least astonishingly fragile. Rather than taken for granted, they must be rebuilt every day, tended and protected.

This rebuilding, this regular maintenance of the fundamental pillars of a just, kind, and healthy world is both an urgent need, and the responsibility of everyone who wants to live in such a world. And that suggests that a Judaism worth engaging in must be actively participating in this work.

I’ll put it this way: Everything we have seen about the president-elect, from his early career to the beginning of his candidacy to his first acts following the election suggest that a his election and the forces his election have unleashed pose an existential threat to the American experiment and to global society. Any institution that pretends moral authority, that claims to present eternal truths, that presents itself as important, must be engaged in fighting this threat. The only question for Jewish institutions is to determine what our role in this struggle will be.

At the very least, those of us involved in Jewish education can resolve that our greatest role is to nurture wise, kind, and caring students, students who will use what tools we can give them to help build, every day, those pillars of society we took for granted for too long. Students who will be call us to be their partners, every day, in renewing the work of Creation.

Wednesday, November 9, 2016

This is the email I sent to the students in our MA program. If you're a teacher, it's for you, too.

Hi, my friends...
If you are like me, you are probably dealing with some strong emotions, perhaps apprehensive about what lies ahead. I don't want to project my own feelings onto you; I know I'm feeling somewhat at a loss.

I want to remind you, though, of some of the great blessings you have - not in general, not in the abstract, but right here, right now:

First, you are able to give your students an enormous gift by providing them with a calm, loving, non-reactive presence. Be there for them.

Second, as Jewish educators, part of our work is to help our students grow into wise, loving people. Is there more important work than this?

Finally, you have as your colleagues some of the biggest-hearted people I know - in the field in general, and in this program specifically. We are all here for each other. Please feel free to reach out to me or to your classmates if you feel a need, and let your classmates and your coworkers know that they can reach out to you.

Though maybe it’s not that surprising
after all; It’s hard to imagine two less similar holidays. We are – or so the liturgy tells us, engaged
in a matter of life and death, facing the many, many, many things we’ve done
wrong and the urgent need to fix what we’ve broken. It is the day when we are told that things matter very much.

Purim, on the other hand, is a time of play, a
day when practically nothing matters:
we party, we dress up, we give free rein to our most impious urges in what can
be viciously funny purim shpiels.

The imaginative play isn’t just the
icing, it’s integral to the idea of Purim, because it is the subversive power
of the imagination, as satire, as mockery which allows is truly revolutionary. For
whatever real power tyrants and oppressive systems may have, it is built on the
myth that they matter: that they are indeed powerful, and that power is, if not
deserved, real and entrenched. That’s
why bullies and dictators hate satire and mockery, because it reminds them that
they are not in control over the imagination, and so it threatens tyrants; it
threatens established systems: Purim is the festival of nothing has to be.

If Purim cleans the slate, Yom Kippur
is a time in which we prepare rebuild, to make things better, to mend what
we’ve broken. And here’s the thing: the
imagination is central to this as well.

First of all, if we want to be agents
for good in the world, to act effectively, or to judge actions wisely, we have
to be able to look at the consequences of actions – who’s involved, who’s
implicated, where the ripples might be. This is what I think is meant by Rabbi
Shimon’s answer when asked for the most important virtue: “ha-roeh et hanolad”,
which is usually translated as “foresight” but which really means “to see that
which is aborning” : not prophecy, but to have the imagination to see the world
as pregnant with possibilities.

Second, in order to understand the import
of those possibilities, one must understand what they means to people, and that requires empathy.
But as anyone who’s tried to anticipate what another will like or not
like knows, you can’t ever really get into the head of an other, precisely
because people are so radically other.
Empathy, too, is an act of the imagination.

But, as we’ve been reminding ourselves
all day, we haven’t been doing that work, not the fixing and not the
empathizing. We know that, and yet we
don’t change. What stops us? For me, and perhaps for you, it’s largely the
belief that I can’t. We feel ourselves stuck, bound with the bonds of habit and
guilt and – especially as we get older – a kind of moral despair. In order to do teshuvah, we must be able to –
yes – imagine ourselves as different, as better.

Yom Kippur is a “day like Purim”
because so much of its work depends on the imagination. And, as with Purim, the imagination becomes a
central part of the observance. Today,
we too have a “shpiel” – the Avodah service, where we imagine ourselves in a
different place, a different time, as different people. And, over and over and over again, the
liturgy invites to imagine ourselves as forgivable.

But that’s not just Yom Kippur, and
not just Purim where the imagination is such a central part of the practice:

·On
Pesach, we are famously told that we each have to imagine ourselves as having
made the passage from slavery to freedom

·On
Shabbat, the idea of “prohibited activities” provides an opportunity in which to
imagine the world as good, as
good enough that we don’t need to change it.

·The
blessings we might say on food, or actions, or experiences suggest that imagine
the event as an extension of the Infinite into the world

·And
when we pray, those words we didn’t write and don’t feel and don’t believe, are
a framework in which we can imagine ourselves as spiritually mature.

Here’s the punch line: Judaism not a
practice of faith, but a practice of the imagination, in which we’re invited to
be imaginative and even playful, because it’s in that playful mind and heart
that we can explore possibilities; it’s the imagination, I’m here to tell you,
that is the central religious faculty.
On Yom Kippur, the day like Purim, we begin to focus that faculty. To
bring it to our view of the world, of others, of ourselves – so that we can
move away from these “playing fields of the Lord” and out of the shul: caring
for others, caring for ourselves, seeing the fruit of our imagination blossom,
and finding the joy of play in the joy of a rebuilt world.

Friday, July 25, 2014

I have been
absent from much of the conversation going on about recent events in Israel and
Gaza. Partly that’s been because much of
what I was feeling just did not want to be captured in words. Partly because there were issues that I felt
demanded more knowledge than I could pretend to. And partly because, given the state of the
discourse – at least as it appears on my FB feed – I didn’t feel that anything
I might actually say would do anything beyond proclaim, “I’m the kind of person
who thinks X!” And while this seems to
be The Conversation the Jewish community is having, it doesn’t feel much like a
conversation.

What
follows, then, are some notes about what a real conversation might look like,
based on what I think I know about ethics, about the current situation, and
about how to speak to people who don’t agree with you (I used to teach high
school, so I’ve had some experience with that). If you think I’m wrong on some of these, let
me know – although if you disagree with me on any of the “Categorical
Statements” under “Thoughts on the Situation” we probably don’t share the same
universe. Because it seems to me that if
we’re straight on these, then we might be able to talk. To each other.

Some
thoughts on moral reasoning

To have a
right to something does not mean having a right to do anything claimed to be in
support of that right.

Conversely,
to say that something done in support of a cause was wrong does not in itself
invalidate the cause.

To have a
right to do something does not mean that thing is either moral or wise.

Suffering
does not necessarily endow one with either virtue or wisdom. Sometimes people do become wiser as a result of their
suffering; sometimes they become broken and bitter; and sometimes it doesn’t
change them at all.

The
potential total amount of suffering, folly, and injustice is infinite; neither
victimhood nor wisdom nor righteousness is a “zero-sum game”.

At the same
time, when things like suffering, folly, and injustice, as well as wisdom,
righteousness, and compassion, do occur they do not do so in infinite
amounts. The fact that a particular
action is unjust does not make the party committing it entirely unjust.

It follows
that:

·Critiques of the wisdom or
ethics of an action or strategy cannot be met by arguing for the legality of
that action or strategy.

·Critiques of an action or
strategy are not, in themselves, critiques of the cause they are claimed to
support.

·Similarly, critiques of an
action or strategy cannot be met by arguing for the justice of the cause
(although the justice of the cause is a precondition for the justice of
the action).

·Nor can critiques of the
wisdom or ethics of an action or strategy be met by arguing that those on whose
behalf the actions are purportedly taken are themselves victims.

·To point out injustices
committed by both sides is not to create a moral equivalence. One could, for example, argue that the
fire-bombing of Dresden was a war crime without claiming that the Allies were
no worse than the Nazis.

Some
thoughts on discourse

The purpose
of cheerleading is to bolster the feelings of those already convinced; the purpose
of arguing is to convince someone. It is
important to be mindful of the distinction, and to choose one’s rhetoric
accordingly.

Insisting on
a point is not the same as arguing for a point.

Saying that
everyone in a particular community believes something to be true is more a
statement about the community than about the truth value of the proposition.

A figure
known to be a partisan of one side is unlikely to be seen as a compelling
authority to those not already sympathetic to that side.

A figure
held to be untrustworthy on a range of issues may not have much credibility on
others.

Questioning
the integrity or moral status of one’s interlocutor is similarly unlikely to
prove an effective strategy for convincing him or her.

If a large
number of your target audience is unconvinced by your arguments, it is a more
useful exercise to re-examine your own presentation than to blame the audience.

Thoughts
on the situation.

1)
Categorical Statements:

The death of
children is a bad thing.

Targeting
civilians is a bad thing.

While
particular institutions may be broken and particular polices unjust, the
principle of international law is a good, not only when it is helpful or
convenient. This is especially true for
treaties one has signed.

Oppression
is a bad thing.

2)
Particulars

The State of
Israel has no less legitimacy, and no less a right to exist, than any other
state. Jews have no less a right to
define themselves as a people than any other people.

Palestinians
have no less a right to define themselves as a people than any other
people. Palestinians have no less a
right to self-determination and freedom from oppression than any other people.[1]

The
Occupation is not, and has never been, benign.

Hamas is not
a force for good or liberation, and its policies have increased the misery of
the residents of Gaza.

Hamas has
shown no interest in a long-term settlement with Israel.

It is past
time for the American Jewish community to address what it means that no country outside of Israel has ever seen the
settlement of the West Bank (including East Jerusalem) and the Golan Heights as
anything other than a violation of international law.

A stable
Palestinian state is crucial for Israel’s long term security.

[1]
Yes, I’m aware that I didn’t say that Palestinians have the same right to a
state as any other people. That’s
because I’m not convinced that peoples have a categorical right to a state
prior to that state’s existence, in the way that people have a right to be free
from oppression. Do the Basques have a
right to a state? The Kurds? The Roma?
And yes, I’m prepared to apply this reasoning to Israel. I don’t think, prior to 1948, that the Jews
had an absolute “right” to a state. That
doesn’t delegitimize Israel; I don’t think there was an absolute right to a
Czech nation-state, but that doesn’t delegitimize the Czech Republic. That also doesn’t mean I don’t think there
should be sovereign Palestinian state; I do.
That’s because I think it, like the State of Israel in 1948, is the best
political solution in the current situation.

Friday, December 6, 2013

The example of Nelson Mandela can lead us to llok at other oppressed peoples, espeially those whose struggles are violent and messy and corrupt, and ask, "Why don't they have a Mandela? Why don't they have a Gandhi, or a King?" But the real question should be for those of us who, by virtue of nationality or income or what-have-you have any kind of privilege or power: "Why," it asks us, "do you need to see another Mandela? You know what must be done. What more do you need to learn about justice?"

Friday, August 16, 2013

I know that everybody (including some of America's Most Influential Rabbis) disagrees, but personally, I think that kid's Bar Mitzvah party is nobody's business. Did it cost more than I will ever make in a year? Yes. Did it have anything to do with what I think of as important Jewish values? No. Would I have enjoyed being there? God, no. And my conclusion? So. And also, What?

Let's face it: Lots of Bar and Bat Mitzvah parties have nothing to do with Jewish, religious, or ethical values. Lots of them are vulgar. In lots of them, people - particularly women - are dressed well beyond the bounds of traditional Jewish definitions of modesty (though many of those are family and guests). And my guess is that many of those took a greater proportional chunk out of the families' discretionary income than this one did. We don't hear about those, though - probably because those don't have quite the volume (read: they didn't cost as much) as this one had.

Also, there are probably lots of Bar/Bat Mitzvah celebrations that cost a whole lot more than this one did, but we don't here of them, either, because they were in Better - or at least quieter - taste. A celebrity performer? A luxury trip abroad? Why not? As long as it's not tacky.

Be honest: the values at stake here are not moral or religious but aesthetic. And if you've been elected Censor by the Centuriate Assembly, judging the aesthetics of a private family function is precisely at your pay grade. But otherwise, unless someone is trying to force you to adopt that kind of taste as your own, why is it a subject for your public judgment?

Look, you want to use your pulpit to inveigh against the kind of wealth inequality that allows one family to spend on one event what most other families will never make in a year? I'm right behind you. You want to establish sumptuary rules so that all simchas are affordable. Rock on (but good luck with your congregants). You want to insist that all Bar/Bat Mitzvah kids and their families demonstrate a commitment to a life of piety and good deeds? Yes, please.

But if you don't object to private fortunes, if you don't insist on a common standard of taste, or an overarching expression of piety in family celebrations, then maybe a better, more pastoral response would be to stand in front of the prurient crowd, and protect a family from a public shaming. Isn't that a Jewish value, too?

Friday, April 5, 2013

In writing about the culture of violence that is both the necessary
foundation and natural concomitant of, the military occupation of the West Bank,
Amira Hass writes something bad and stupid:

“Throwing stones is the birthright and duty of anyone
subject to foreign rule.”

It’s odd, too, because elsewhere in her essay she writes
compellingly about civil disobedience, suggesting that training in the theory
and practice of thoughtful, peaceful resistance should be part of the
curriculum of Palestinian schools.
Violence, though, is not civil disobedience, and her words are not only
morally corrupt, but strategically dangerous, threatening to further damage
what there is of political discourse and to accelerate a looming spiral into
chaos and bloodshed.

So: her statement is bad and stupid.

It is important,
though, to note what her statement is not.
It is not, contrary to the claims of some, an incitement to murder. Throwing rocks at people is violent, is
dangerous, and may be lethal, but it is generally not an attempt at homicide,
and everyone knows this – including those making the most extreme claims
against Hass. Should the settlers who threw stones at Palestinian school buses, or at police and soldiers who have come to dismantle illegal structures, have been treated as would-be murderers?

Yes, a stone can kill.
So can a rubber-jacketed bullet; so can a baton. But when police use them in riot control they
are hailed – or criticized – for using non-lethal force, in spite of the
potential danger. And that is because we recognize the distinction between an act of violence with the intent to kill, and an act of violence with a different intent; between throwing a stone and throwing a grenade.

Moral judgment means precisely that – judgment. It means evaluation, it means judgment. To say that something is bad does not mean
that it is the worst; to say that something is not the worst is not to say that
it is ok. What do incitements to, or
justification of, murder look like? “Deathto Arabs” spray-painted on a wall – that looks like one. Suggesting that “din rodef” applies to an individual
or group, that could look like one, too. “Throwing
stones is the birthright and duty of anyone subject to foreign rule?” Not so much.

Should we condemn Amira Hass’s justification of violence as
morally corrupt? Yes. But we should condemn it for what it is – not
for what it isn’t.

About Me

Under the mat of frost and over the mat of clouds. / But in between lies the sphere of my fortune / And the fortunes of frost and of clouds, / All alike, except for the rules of the rabbis, / Happy men, distinguishing frost and clouds.Wallace Stevens